“You should apply for Gaelic funding.”

Every time we talk about the challenges of running a small island business, someone says the same thing: “You should apply for Gaelic funding.”

We’ve heard it. But here’s the truth: we’re not eligible.

Take the just published Taic Freumhan Coimhearsnachd scheme from Bòrd na Gàidhlig. It supports Gaelic projects in the community — but explicitly excludes commercial or for-profit organisations. So the message becomes: “Your work does not matter to us, your business structure disqualifies you.”

Meanwhile, we help over a hundred Gaelic students every year — from beginners to advanced learners — both in person and online. We keep course fees as low as possible so learners from all walks of life can afford to take part. Our prices barely cover the costs of running the programmes, bringing economic benefit to our Gaelic island community, involving the Gaelic local community, paying the tutor and other service providers, maintaining resources, and keeping the doors open. Yet the system treats us like we’re running a large commercial venture, when in truth we’re a micro-business trying to keep a language and ourselves alive.

And this exclusion isn’t just unfair — it’s short-sighted. Academic research has already shown what happens when community-based Gaelic support is poorly structured. The Gaelic Crisis in the Vernacular Community (Ó Giollagáin et al., 2020) exposed how well-intentioned community strategies often fail to protect the actual speakers on the ground. The system’s bureaucracy too often rewards paper projects over living practice — and now, by excluding small for-profit island enterprises, that same system risks repeating the same mistakes.

Our own students often tell us we’re undercharging — that we should raise prices to reflect the quality of teaching and the depth of experience we offer. They’re right in theory. But in practice, every small price increase drives learners toward funded or subsidised courses instead. We can’t compete with organisations whose costs are covered by public money. So we’re caught in a loop: keep prices low and struggle to survive, or raise them and lose the very students we’re here to serve. From 2026, our prices have finally been levelled with other language courses — not because demand has grown, but because survival has forced it.

Let’s be clear: we do not make profits. Everything earned goes straight back into sustaining Gaelic learning, island economy, community & immersion experiences. And yes, we do hit hard times. There are weeks when you genuinely wonder if it’s all been worth it — if the years of effort, late nights, and personal sacrifice mean anything at all when the very Gaelic agencies tasked with protecting the language show little concern for your work's impact on the Gaelic island community. It's not about the money, it's about support and visibility.

We think sideways. We work longer hours, exhausted or not, sick or not. We stretch every penny. If we don’t generate income for four weeks, we can’t pay bills or wages. There’s no grant cushion — just persistence, creativity, and total burn-out. But we have to keep going for the sake of Gaelic and our students.

Volunteering, collaborating with funded organizations or just going out enjoying the language becomes a luxury we can’t afford when every unpaid hour takes us further from paying our own bills. We’re not here to hand over business ideas — that’s what publicly funded agencies are paid to do. Non-Gaelic businesses wouldn’t be expected to give away their strategies for free, yet Gaelic ones often are. Our focus is on keeping teaching and culture alive, not filling the gaps left by institutions with budgets far larger than ours.

The lack of support has worn us down. It’s a kick in the stomach yet again, to give your best to Gaelic and island culture, only to be told that if you need a little help surviving during sudden hard times or to allow business up-scaling for the next income-producing tourist season, you don’t fit the funding model. It’s hard not to notice when organisations barely an hour away receive generous funding year after year, while those of us working to grow support for the existing Gaelic community are left to fend for ourselves.

And now, this policy puts us in a painful dilemma: continue supporting Gaelic or stop altogether. If they don't care, why should we? Continuing means risking financial collapse. Stopping means betraying the very mission we’ve carried for a lifetime. That shouldn’t be the choice facing anyone working for the survival of a national language.

We’re not asking for handouts — we’re asking for fairness, not just for us, but for all for-profit Gaelic businesses.

To MSPs and policymakers: Please review the rules of schemes like Taic Freumhan Coimhearsnachd. Stop excluding for-profit enterprises that actively sustain Gaelic learning, cultural life & community and employment in the islands. The line between “community” and “commercial” is out of date and unjust.

If Scotland truly wants its minority languages and fragile island economies to thrive, then funding must evolve to include those of us doing the community work — not just those who fit neatly into a non-profit tick-box.

Until then, we’ll keep going. But the system is pushing us to the edge, and the question we never wanted to ask — continue or cease Gaelic support? — grows louder every day. Not because of money, but because of how invisible we’ve been made to feel all these years.